had a beautiful face, a candid brow, pure eyes, and not a thought of her own in her head.  He surrendered quickly to all those charms, and she appeared to him so unquestionably of the right sort that he did not hesitate for a moment to declare himself in love.  Under the cover of that sacred and poetical fiction he desired her masterfully, for various reasons; but principally for the satisfaction of having his own way.  He was very dull and solemn about it—­for no earthly reason, unless to conceal his feelings—­which is an eminently proper thing to do.  Nobody, however, would have been shocked had he neglected that duty, for the feeling he experienced really was a longing—­a longing stronger and a little more complex no doubt, but no more reprehensible in its nature than a hungry man’s appetite for his dinner.

After their marriage they busied themselves, with marked success, in enlarging the circle of their acquaintance.  Thirty people knew them by sight; twenty more with smiling demonstrations tolerated their occasional presence within hospitable thresholds; at least fifty others became aware of their existence.  They moved in their enlarged world amongst perfectly delightful men and women who feared emotion, enthusiasm, or failure, more than fire, war, or mortal disease; who tolerated only the commonest formulas of commonest thoughts, and recognized only profitable facts.  It was an extremely charming sphere, the abode of all the virtues, where nothing is realized and where all joys and sorrows are cautiously toned down into pleasures and annoyances.  In that serene region, then, where noble sentiments are cultivated in sufficient profusion to conceal the pitiless materialism of thoughts and aspirations Alvan Hervey and his wife spent five years of prudent bliss unclouded by any doubt as to the moral propriety of their existence.  She, to give her individuality fair play, took up all manner of philanthropic work and became a member of various rescuing and reforming societies patronized or presided over by ladies of title.  He took an active interest in politics; and having met quite by chance a literary man—­who nevertheless was related to an earl—­he was induced to finance a moribund society paper.  It was a semi-political, and wholly scandalous publication, redeemed by excessive dulness; and as it was utterly faithless, as it contained no new thought, as it never by any chance had a flash of wit, satire, or indignation in its pages, he judged it respectable enough, at first sight.  Afterwards, when it paid, he promptly perceived that upon the whole it was a virtuous undertaking.  It paved the way of his ambition; and he enjoyed also the special kind of importance he derived from this connection with what he imagined to be literature.